My Juvenile Delinquent

Let me preface this story by telling you that I'm anti-guns-as-play-things, as a principle. In the early days, I didn't even let Po have water guns. We used the friendlier nerdier alternatives. Enter the play date. Enter the Nerf gun. All bets were off.

Now I don't really fight it any more. I don't buy toy weapons, but I let Po do his thing with his buds, and as long as they don't actually say they are killing each other. Pretty much.

Po said to me this evening, "Mommy, there is a rule at school that you can't bring weapons."

Alarm. Alarm. Alarm. Calm. "Yes, I know. Why are you thinking about that?"

"Well, I learned today that you can't bring them and you can't make them."

Um. Alarm. Breathe. "That makes sense. Did someone bring a weapon or make a weapon today?"

"Yup."

If there was a light and siren on my head, it would have been in overdrive. "WHO?"

"Me."

"What?!!?! WHAT?! What are you talking about?"

He calmly stated. "I tried to make a nunchuk out of my strawberry bar wrapper."

Seriously. I guess that's what we get when we allow him to play Wii Music with his older brother. There is nothing that can't be made into a weapon. All boy, I tell you. No matter how hard I try.

Keeping Mommy at Bay

My iPhone screen has been cracked for a long time, but I finally got it fixed today! And...I haven't touched it since. The littles have taken over the revamped box of wonder.

Po was just playing a game and I heard my text "BING." He looked at me to see if I heard and said, "It's probably just from someone you don't know, and it disappeared, anyway, so it's probably not that important."

"Uh, Po, you know the rules with my phone. If I get a text or call, you have to hand it over."

Huge eye rolls. Shoulders slumped. I was handed the phone. Something fun from Big. I responded and placed the phone back in Po's hands. He settled back into the couch with his game.

"BING!"

Po predicted, "oh, really! I'm sure it's exactly the same text you just got."

I started to giggle.

"No, REALLY. It definitely is. Exactly the same. EXACTLY."

I can't wait to play with my revamped phone when the kids go to bed. Sigh.

A Moment of Silence

Every once in a while, what you don't say says more than what you do say.

I've heard that around.

Po's school is a true community. It services pre-K through 12th grade, and we're so happy to have gotten in for Kindergarten. There are weekly overarching themes for the whole school and quarterly individual goals for each student. The parents, teachers, and students sign a contract to the note of all-in participation in helping the child reach the goal. And the goal and progress is reviewed daily.

Sometimes the goals seem small, and sometimes you think your kid has a better shot at being the next astronaut.

Po's goals (he has two, 'cause one just isn't enough) this quarter are to be able to count to 100 unassisted (his suggestion) and to be patient when learning new skills (my suggestion). He'll achieve his goal for patience for the day when he completes the task at hand (wow...who even knows where he got those crazy genes).

The half-day kindergarten moms have formed a sort-of bond, and our boys (yes, they are all boys) have quickly followed suit. High-fiving each other and showing off this or that. But there has been one boy who has been a harder nut to crack. The painfully shy type. He is in Po's class, and Po didn't notice him at first. I suggested that Po talk to him. So he did. And Po is good at talking. And he's good at cracking nuts.

So we all got together yesterday after school. We did a picnic in the park down the street from the school, complete with splash pad, which is not a luxury, but a requirement for end-of-summer/early-fall outings in AZ. Po invited shy-guy, K, to come along, and his effervescent mother was game, so K went along.

They had a great time, and K seemed to be happy. I saw him smile. He tagged along with Po, who was more than happy to accommodate. At the end of the outing, the moms told the boys that they could choose one last thing to do for five minutes before it was time to go. I asked Po what he wanted to do, and he said he'd like to wait to see what K chose so he could be with him and help him.

So the boys went together and had fun. Then we said our hard good-byes after a lovely afternoon...

This afternoon, K's mom and I were chatting while we were waiting for the boys to be released from the Kindergarten play yard. We agreed that it would be wonderful to get together again. Po and K came out together, and the teacher told us moms that the boys had "reflected" on their goals today. Po was still in progress, but K had achieved his goal, and had written it down for all to see.

Ms. B encouraged K to get out his goal sheet, and he did. On it we saw that his quarter one goal had been met "make a new friend." Next to the check box was a picture K had drawn of two boys holding hands. Beside that, he wrote "Porter."

I fought back the tears and gave K's mom a smile. I gave K a BIG high-five, and he was beaming.

K's mom and I confirmed our play-date for next week, and as I walked toward the car with Po, I told him how proud I was of him for helping someone else achieve his goal. Po just stared at me and smiled and didn't say a thing. This little, rare, perfect moment of silence.

So Po didn't meet his goal for the quarter, yet. I'm okay with that. He had bigger fish to fry.

What Does it Mean to Be Free?

My sister comes bearing gifts whenever she comes, and she came this morning. She comes about once a week, so the littles now have a Pavlovian response to that knock on the door, immediately peering into every crevasse of her every limb for something other than her purse. And if they are unsuccessful in that search, the purse gets tossed. I blame my sister for this behavior. She has trained them well, and they only behave this way with her. So I kindly open the door for her, then depart to another room until the treasure hunt has reached it's conclusion.

Today she brought a red shiny bag, which had Po and Cam jumping. She told them that there were eight items in the bag, and asked them how many each of them should receive.

"Eight," Po shouted.

"Yeah, eight," came the echo.

"Nope, try again," Auntie said. She held up four fingers on each hand. "If half are for Po and half are for Cam, how many do each of you get?'

"OH! Four," Po calculated.

"Yeah, four," came the echo.

The bag went onto the floor, and the crowd went wild. The quickly figured out that the four Avengers cups were for Po and the four Disney Princess (should "Princess" REALLY be capitalized, here?) cups were for Cam.

"Great!" I said, with a slight roll of my eyes." Auntie D can help you clean those out today so you can drink out of them."

Auntie D turned to me while the littles were stacking their cups and said "don't worry, they are BPA-free. I made sure."

Sweet.

"I'm gonna show these to Daddy!" Po ran with his cups and stacked them all outside the glass shower door and waited for Daddy to wipe the soap out of his eyes. "Daddy! There's Iron Man, and The Hulk...and...and...they're all PB&J-free!"

Explaining the Movie Massacre

Alex Teves.

He's one of the victims of the movie massacre in Colorado. We didn't know him, but his death is hitting home. The 24-year-old was from Ahwatukee and graduated from Desert Vista High School, which we pass every day. His memorial service took place last weekend at a church two blocks away from our home. There is a memorial for Alex Teves tastefully placed in a grassy area along our daily route. I noticed it yesterday. Po noticed it today.

"MOMMY! I didn't know there was a GRAVE right there!"

"It's not a grave, Po. It's a memorial. It's a place where people can remember someone who died. They can leave things and think about the person who died, but there is no body buried there."

"Who died?"

"A man named Alex Teves. He was shot in Colorado."

"That's far away. If he died in Colorado, then why is that stuff here?" he asked.

"Well, he is from here. So he has family and friends here that care about him very much."

Po thought for a moment. And I knew that what I'd shielded him from was about to be cracked. "Why did he get shot?"

I tried to keep it simple, yet truthful. "Someone shot him. That person didn't know him. That person was very, very sick in his brain. There are very few people in this world that are so sick in their brains like that, so it's nothing for you to worry about, but you should know that Alex Teves was very brave. His girlfriend was with him, and he protected her from the sick man, so she's okay. Isn't that brave and wonderful?"

"Yes, but, he's dead?"

"Yes." I confirmed.

"His parents must be really sad. They should just make another baby."

"I'm sure his parents are very sad, but they can't just make another baby to replace him."

"Why not?" he inquired, so innocently.

"Well, people can't be replaced. There is only one you, and only one me. There is only one of each of us. And there was only one Alex Teves. His parents can't just have another baby to make it better."

"Yes they could. They could just have another baby."

Was I really tackling a conversation about death AND conception in one swoop with my five-year-old, way-to-smart-for-MY-own-good son? "Well, I suppose they could have another baby, but it wouldn't be Alex. It would be a whole different person. They could have a new, wonderful, person in their lives, but they couldn't replace their son."

Po thought again, and decided, "yes, they could. They could just name the new baby the same name."

"Lots of people have the same name. There are a lot of people named 'Alex' in this world, but just because you name someone the same name doesn't mean they are the same person. We gave you your middle name, 'Ed,' after Grandpa Ed and Cam's middle name 'Libby' after Grandma Libby, but you aren't them. You are you. And Cam is Cam. We named you those names because we loved them and wanted to give you a proud name. Not because we wanted you to BE them. You have to be your own person."

He wasn't buying it. Maybe I went too far.

"Mommy, if I died and you had another baby, you could name him Porter, and it would be okay because I would give him all of my memories."

Gulp. I waived the white flag.

"Porter, you are the sweetest boy ever. I don't think that's possible, but the fact that you'd be willing to give someone else your memories is just beautiful. You are thoughtful, kind, and sentimental, and I love you so very much. Let's not worry about any of this any more, okay? If you want to talk about it more another time, we can, but let's just go home and have a nice lunch, for now."

"Okay," he sighed.

Then, there was another voice. One we hadn't heard for several minutes. One we almost forgot was there.

"I give my memories, too," Cam quietly declared.

What else could I possibly say? "Cam, I know you would. And you are such a wonderful person because of it."

She sighed and placed a request: "Can you turn on 'Fireworks' (Katy Perry), Mommy?"

"Yeah!" said Po.

And so I did. And so we sang. And then we had lunch. And those two forgot about the whole thing (I think).

I never will.

Life Alert

Po just called me over. "Mommy, I think you should check this out."

"What is it?"

"It's something you might want to get," as he rewound the DVR. "If you have a heart attack or fall down or you can't breathe or something. Check it out."

It was a Life Alert commercial.

"You think I need that, Po?" Big was chuckling from the other room.

"Well, I think it could be useful if you have a heart attack or something. I mean, maybe when you're older."

"How old do you think I should be?" I cautiously inquired.

"Hmmmmm. Well, let me rewind again and see if it tells us."

He did. And it didn't. I guess, for now, that magic age will remain a mystery. He looked me up and down and determined I'd just need to be "older." I think I'll wait a few years before adding it to my wish list.

Preview to an Empty Nest

On this day before Po's first day of Kindergarten, my sentimental (psycho) side is coming out, and Po's entire life is flashing before my eyes as if he's marching to his doom in the morning. I am quite excited to hear from him how his day goes, and he couldn't be more excited. I'm doing my best to not rain on his parade. It's all about him. Not all about me. Right?

When we were driving around today, a wild bunny darted across the street in front of our car. Not an unusual event, but Po noticed and announced, "my next pet is definitely going to be a soft bunny."

"As much as I love bunnies, Po," I said, "I've had them before, and we've cared for them lots. They are a lot of work. You can have a bunny when you have your own house someday. I don't do bunnies."

"I don't do other houses," he retorted.

Thank goodness he's not keen on moving out just yet.

The Domino Affect

Po has a loose tooth–his first–that I've been monitoring like the Hope Diamond. Our second-to-last check-in before the just-after-tucking-in check-in is while he's brushing his teeth after his evening bath. 

"How's the tooth?" I played off the parental panic and wonder and made it seem all casual.

"Fine." Po said, and let me wiggle it for the umpteenth time today. "Mommy, when this tooth falls out and the big one comes in, will the big one make the other ones fall out one by one by one like dominoes?"

"Great question, Po." I was relieved to take the pressure off that one tooth for a minute. "It doesn't really work like that. But once the first one falls out, you'll probably get another loose one. And then over the course of the next few years, your teeth will all gradually fall out." 

Cam interjected. "Well, if I chew really hard on a domino, I bet my tooth will get loose."

Before I had a chance to provide her with a dissertation about how chewing on a domino wasn't the answer to keeping up with her big brother in the tooth department, Po reasoned, "Cam, you're way younger than me, and you probably won't lose a tooth for eighty-nine more years, so don't even chew on a domino."

"Okay," she agreed, and continued to brush her well-rooted baby teeth.

Sometimes big brothers have all the answers.  

Dream Lights

Po just saw a commercial for Dream Lights, those pillow pet things that shoot constellations out of their asses and onto your bedroom ceiling. He asked, "Mommy, do you think we'll ever get one of those?"

"I doubt it, Po. What do we need that for?"

"Well," he justified, "it makes a beautiful star scape sky on the bedroom ceiling, it turns off 'matically after twenty minutes, and it promotes a restful night's sleep."

At least I know he is capable of being a good listener.

The Secret to Everlasting Beauty

You know how you just want to eat your kids sometimes? In a good way?

I was having that feeling about Po, so I gave him a snuggle and asked, "how in the world did you get to be so handsome? I mean, you're really somethin' else. Can you please teach me? How do you do it?"

He looked himself up and down and told me the secret. "I guess you just wear a random shirt or something."

Thank goodness. I've been doing that all along.

A Lesson in Dating

At dinner this evening, Po had some dating advice for Cam. You see, he's ultra-sensitive about people who chew with their mouths open. It's the gag reflex in him.

"Cam, you really shouldn't eat like that. It's gross, and when you go out with a boy, you can't chew with your mouth open."

She looked at him oddly. "When I go out with Justin Bieber, I have to shut my mouth to eat?"

"Yes, but you haven't even seen Justin Bieber, Cam."

"Yes, I have," she retorted.

"Mommy," Po asked. "Has Cam seen Justin Bieber in this house before?"

"Well, if she means on TV," I reasoned, "then I suppose she has."

"See, Po, I have!" Cam agreed. 

Po looked at me, sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Girls." 

I wonder if Justin Bieber chews with his mouth open.

A is for...

I was reading Po a book about kindergarten this evening, and a page came up where the kids were asked to think of words that start with "A."

As I was reading the responses you would expect out of the kids appearing in the kindergarten book, Po, said "I know one! Annual!"

Yup.

Mommy and Daddy are Pitching a Tent in the Backyard

Cam passed out on the couch this evening, and I'm letting her sleep there. She hasn't had dinner yet, and she'll probably wet herself, but I think her body is telling her what she needs, and it's sleep. So Po and I went through the nighttime routine alone with a few modifications. He told me he couldn't sleep in the room without Cam and requested to go to sleep in our bed.

"Okay." I said.

"Goodie!" He grabbed Super (blankie) as I prepared his water, and then he proceeded to load his arms. "I need T-rexy pillow pet, and kitty, and my batman monster truck, and Optimus Prime..."

"Whoa. Daddy will be home soon. Will there be room for all of that?" I inquired.

Po shrugged, "Yeah, it's a big bed."

Geography

Here in Phoenix, we're transitioning from "might it stay below 100º today?" to the reality of "it's never going to be less than 102º until October." Every year, I go through the stages of denial where I torture my family by keeping the thermostat at an unreasonably high temperature, which I will not disclose. I finally decided it was time to go full-force-summer-AC.

As I was helping Po get into his PJs tonight, he declared under fan and vent, "Mommy, it's like Antarctica in here!"

Really. You're five.

What School is Really All About

We've been having a lot of special meals lately and eating out frequently since Grandma has been here for two weeks. Teen Thing B has been taking some sweet leftovers to school and keeps returning home from the day bragging about how he's making his buddies jealous with his fab lunches.

The boys (B and Po) split a leftover chocolate bunny for desert this evening. It was pretty huge, but I wanted the thing out of the pantry, so I let them have at it. About halfway through his half, B succumbed to the chocolate heft and his desire to continue to impress, and declared that he would take the rest with his lunch to school tomorrow.

Po took a couple more bites of the ass-end of the bunny and asked if he could "save the feet for kindergarten so I can make all of my new friends jealous like brother."

I let him know that kindergarten doesn't start until July 30.

He pondered for a moment, then said "well, will it keep until then?"

"I don't think so." I said. "Why don't we just put it in the fridge and save it for another day? Maybe tomorrow."

His eyes lit up. "I know! Let's have a play date with (BFF) BK tomorrow! He'll be really jealous of my bunny feet!"

Aren't big brothers the best for teaching life lessons? And I should most definitely win a prize for thinking my pre-K son has the same sense of humor as the freshman.

 

Spy Supplies

Well before dawn, Cam was inserting herself into the parent sandwich of the bed. A few minutes later, Po emerged from our bathroom and snuggled up next to my other side, holding two empty toilet paper rolls.

"Why in the world would you throw away spy binoculars?" he grilled me.

"Sorry, bud," I said. "I didn't realize you wanted them."

"Well, of course. All you have to do is glue them together and you have spy binoculars. Then all I have to do is design them. I'll draw a princess on one side as best I can so Cam can share them with me, and on the other side I'll draw a robot as best I can. I like robots. Can you help me right now?"

"Well, just let me–" Cam cut me off.

"Po, princesses go with stripes. And zebras go with stripes," she piped in her graphic opinion.

He laid there silent for a moment, then, announced, "hey, you just gave me a great idea! I'll draw a princess on your side and a zebra on my side. Stripes, stripes. All I need is black and white."

"But, Po, white crayons don't work." Ever the realist.

"Well, Cam, I'm doing it, anyway. It's settled. Princess zebra spy binoculars. Moooooommmmmmmyyyyyyy. Get out of bed!"

And here I am, spy binocular construction complete before my morning coffee.

Telling it Like it is

I was multitasking last night, tucking the littles in while waiting for a return phone call from a client that couldn't be missed. With no pockets in my comfy clothes, I tucked my phone into my bra.

Po wondered, "how can you hold you phone like that in your bra?" as I was hugging him good night.

"Because I have big boobs and a supportive bra." I mean, why sugar-coat it?

"Oh, yeah," he agreed.

I turned the tables on him. "Why is it that you're so super cute?"

He smiled and answered, "that's just life!"

Arizona Metaphor

Po sat down in my lap this evening for me to read him a bedtime story. "OUCH!" He said. "Something hurt me."

I wondered what it could be.

He looked into my lap, then stroked my leg. "That's it! Your leg feels like a cactus!"

I should have told him that it's his fault since I slave over him and his well being all day, I don't always have the time or the...well those just would have been excuses. I just laughed until I almost peed, which would have been super attractive streaming down my cacti.

Major Mommy Mistake

I don't know how two women could mess up so royally.

Po and his great buddy, B, were pumped that today was the big party. A girl from school was turning five. B's mom, E, and I were planning for weeks. We went in on a killer outfit and charm bracelet, helped the boys make cards, and coordinated everything. She'd watch Cam and her little one while I chaperoned the boys to the party. The boys were dressed to the nines, and chatted in the car the whole way there.

"Will there be cupcakes?"

"Can we have one?"

"Will so-and-so be there?"

"Can we see the gift, again?"

"I can't WAIT!"

We pulled up to the house at 12:05 p.m., just five minutes late. Some kind of record. There were no cars. Not a single one. I felt bad that perhaps no one had come to the party. We would come to the rescue. I double-checked the address on the invitation and knew we had the right house. Then my heart dropped.

I checked the date. March 21, 2012. Yesterday.

"Maybe we're the first ones here!" came an excited voice from the back seat.

I wanted to vomit. I almost cried.

"Boys, I have a bit of bad news," I struggled. "The mommies messed-up, big time, and we missed the party. It was yesterday. We thought it was today. I'm so, so, sorry."

Silence.

How could both of us have thought the party was on the same wrong day? How? Why couldn't it be tomorrow? Why weren't the boys saying anything?

"We missed the party?" I don't know who said it.

All I remember was the lump in my throat, and that the lump suddenly came out. "We're going to make our own party, and it will be even better!"

"Cool!" one of them said. The other one was crying. That one was mine.

"Po, this will rock, don't worry. Let me just make a couple of phone calls." I dropped the gift at the front door and called the party mom, tail between my legs. She was super sweet, thank goodness. I called E and broke the bad news, followed by "we're making a party, and I'm going to pick up a cake and balloons and come to your house, and we're going to make this up to the boys."

"YES WE ARE!" she agreed, "only don't stop for anything. Come straight back. I'm getting the stuff out to make brownies, and I have ice cream, and I have balloons."

I filled the boys in on the plan, and they seemed pretty happy. Po said "sounds good. I'm just really disappointed." Dagger.

We made quesadillas, and we had warm brownies with ice cream, played catch with balloons, had a stellar water balloon fight, and we played musical chairs. Many times. We even sang happy birthday to "nobody." There were lots of giggles and smiles, but E and I still felt like failures. We smiled through our tears and did the best we could. I'm pretty sure the whole ordeal was much harder on us than it was on the boys.

When we got home this afternoon, I sat down with Po on the couch. "I hope you had a lot of fun today. I know you were really disappointed that we missed the party. I'm so, so sorry for that. Sometimes even mommies make big mistakes."

He sighed and said "Mommy, stop worrying. I'm okay. I'm really okay." Man, I love that kid. Still feel guilty, but the love is starting to swallow that up.

Never Were There Smarter Gentlemen

Spring Break: The special time in my life when fourteen-year-old male and five-year-old male meet in the middle somewhere 'roud 'bout nine-year-old-male–24/7–and in-between bouts of conflict, come up with notions that make me shake my head, speculate about intelligence levels and the future of mankind, and pour myself a cocktail.

Enter today's conversation, upon which I eavesdropped:

The scene: Two nine-year-old boys, one 5'11", one 3'5". Entertaining themselves despite the fact that they are bored, hungry, and tired. Current source of entertainment: 3' foam sword. Just one (sweet).

I'll cut to the chase.

B advises, in complete seriousness and concern, "Po, you should never, never, never touch the blade of a real sword. It is extremely sharp, and if you touch it, it can cut your skin really, really bad. And there are two sides, and both can cut you, and you should never never touch the edge of a real sword."

All the while, Po is stroking the foam sword, formulating his response.

"Yeah, I KNOW! That's why I'm TOTALLY not going to be a knight when I grow up."

Me neither. Just for that reason.

The Package

Po has been working really hard to quit sucking his thumb. He wears a bandage on his thumb each day as a reminder, and we have a two-week-long chart to track his progress. He's gone thirteen days straight with no sucking, so tomorrow is the big day when he gets his reward. I ordered it from Amazon to arrive tomorrow, but it came a day early.

Of course, Po knows what's inside, and he's parading the Amazon box around. We can't open it until tomorrow, though!

Cam is caught up in all of the excitement, so she's following him around the house, and he keeps trying to find a place for the Amazon box so she can't reach it, to no avail. So he had a little chat with her:

"Cam. It's my package, and it's special to me. I don't want you touching my package. I drew a girl on it with an 'x' through it, which means 'no girls can touch my package.' I don't want you touching my special package, because it's really important to me, and I'm going to do something special with it. So quit trying to touch my package, because no girls can touch it."

I'm so glad we've got that settled.

How to Sell Bake Pops

The littles' birthdays are coming up, so we've been party planning for their combined celebration. They settled on a Bakugan/Team Umizoomi theme. I just love a challenge.

We've been discussing cake options, and this morning Po suggested Bake Pops. He told me they're "fast and easy. You don't want a boring cake when you can have Bake Pops."

Either he's taken a sales training course I was unaware of, or we've been watching too much TV.

"Well, if you want Bake Pops for your party, then you'll have to ask your sister how she feels about that," I instructed.

"Okay," and he was off.

From the other room, I hear, "Cam, do you want Bake Pops instead of a cake for our party?"

"Nope," she shot him down.

"Well, Cam, you should know that regular cakes are boring. Why would you want a regular cake when you can have Bake Pops? They are easy and fun and delicious. Just stick the sticks in, then have an adult bake them for you, then we can decorate them with the frosting pens!"

She's taking it into consideration.