Sunday, February 27, 2011

Boy 1 hits double digits

Ten years old.  That means the celebration needs to be 10 days long, it seems.  Presents galore,


sleepover, cake pops to bring to school,


another party Saturday.  Then, to top it all off, his basketball team gets to play at half-time at the Husky basketball game.  Does it get better than that??

In honour of his 10 years on the planet, he gets a bit of a retrospective. Boy 1 was born February 5, 2001.  You may remember 2001 as being the first year that maternity leave was a full year.  I spent December of 2000 worrying that he would be premature.  He wasn't.  He was very obedient, even in the womb.  Cutest baby ever:
His birth also marked the last year I got any sleep.  (I miss you 2001!)

Cheerful nature like Mom

Unless you are being irritating - PHD
he's a terrific big brother, once he stopped denying he had a brother - shortly after this picture

We rewarded him for his agreeable nature by dressing him up and taking embarrassing pictures

Boy 1 is still a lovely boy.  He is curious, kind, thoughtful and funny.  He has always been really good at reading, building and fixing things.  When I can't figure out how to work something electronic, he is my go-to guy.  All he needs to learn is to put his dirty clothes in the hamper to be a perfect husband some day! 

He also helps me with my PHD training.  (ha, did that amuse anyone else?) When I went to San Francisco for a four day girls' trip, and called home on day 2,  Boy 1 informed me that he had a stomach ache, probably from unhealthy food, because they had not yet eaten a meal at home.  (that's six meals out, not that I am counting.)  He then told PHD that 1. he didn't feel safe when Mom was away, and 2. the house is never this messy when Mom is home.  Gotta love that kid!  

Hope every birthday is as happy as the first!




Sunday, February 20, 2011

Singing like a canary or screaming like a panic button

When he isn't hiding, Boy 2 is currently either whistling like a little bird or clapping his hands. All the time. I yearn for silence.  At first I ignored him.  Then at about Day 3,  a particularly sharp whistle/clap combo broke through my irritation barrier.  No small feat, I might add.   This was the conversation at our house yesterday:

Boy 1, "Wouldn't it be funny if when you hit (whistle) the panic button on Dad's truck, instead of beeping, a girl (clap, clap, clappety, clap) started screaming?  You know, like she's panicking? (whistle, clap)"

Me: "Stop it, Boy 2, your brother is trying to talk, you are interrupting."

PHD: "Bahahaha, that would be (whistle) hilarious. (clap, whistle)  I should see if I can get one custom made."

At this point Boy 2 looks me in the eye, smirks, and gives one more good clap.  He prefers the clap to the whistle because he can't give me his little, "I know I am driving you crazy"  grin while he whistles.  Am I the only one that can hear this?  I am pretty sure this is happening but no one but me notices. If I can still consider the possibility that I may be losing my mind, I am still sane, right?  RIGHT?  Meanwhile, Boy 1 and PHD are still discussing the custom design of the reality panic button.

I tried a few things to resolve the issue.  I tried feeding him peanut butter and crackers.  He got full. I got him to put on his iPod. He started clapping. I sent him swimming with PHD.  I still think I can hear whistling.  Could he be hiding somewhere in the house? He probably recorded himself somehow. 

As we are just heading into a full week of no school, and my irritation barrier is already defunct, I fear I may soon be the real-life voice  of the panic button, "Aaaaahhhhhhstopitstopitstopit!!!!"




Friday, February 4, 2011

Signs you may need work in a key parenting area

I first suspected I had a problem at Christmas when my mom gave me a beautiful nativity set. Boy 1 pulled out the wise men and said, "Who are this guys? " Oooooh, yeah, now I remember what I meant to teach them about...I need to do better with their spirituality, or maybe transfer them to Catholic school.

Another sign was when the school counselor called and said...well, I guess, the school counselor called. Period. Doesn't really matter what she said, you know it's not good.  They never call and say "Your son is so bright/creative/innovative!" or "Your son is reading too much!"  although I did recently get a call from the principal to say that Boy 2 got hit with a skipping rope and the other child would be dealt with.  I was relieved neither of my kids were in the wrong.  Is that bad? Good parents are probably outraged when their kids come home welted, not relieved they were the wronged party.

I didn't learn my lesson, either.  One day they were fighting so bad over a toque that I sent them outside.  The fight finally ended when Boy 1 shoved Boy 2 into a snowbank and Boy 2 came up with a bloody mouth.  "Help me, help me!"   "Sorry, sorry, sooorrryy!!!!" I was so happy the fighting stopped. I need to go find some empathy, or something.

I carry a book in my purse in the event that one of the children won't get in the car and I will either a) have to wait him out without appearing anxious, or b) have to pretend to be ignoring the hilarious footrace around the car.  When Boy 2 won't get in the car, PHD will chase Boy 2 around the car until either his rage or stamina fails. Usually stamina is the first to go, the rage hangs on for a while.  I don't understand how Boy 2 can belly laugh and sprint at the same time.  The angrier PHD gets, the harder Boy 2 laughs and the faster he runs. I have to pull out my book so he can't see me laughing...maybe we can call my reading "modeling excellent literacy habits" and take this example off the list. Cuz the footrace is hilarious.

Oh, and another huge indicator of poor parenting is if you you have PTSD-type symptoms every time you see a cop car or fire truck. My symptoms started last spring around the time Boy 2 figured out he could leave me voice mail messages by phoning our home number from home.  He left me a variety of messages like singing Waving Flag, telling me he loved me (aww), making chewing noises (even the dog knows that is my biggest pet peeve - are you kissing that bite or what?) and telling me stories about his day.  He was busying himself with this project one day while I folded laundry. Suddenly he comes running into my room, "The cops are here!"  Sure enough, they were at the door.  Seems someone called 911 and hung up.  When 911 called back they could only get voice mail.  Probably because Boy 2 was occupying the line with another chorus of "This is the song that never ends..."  They grilled me and him and only let up on us when I told them my husband and other son were at Boy Scouts.  Whew, close one.  The next day a fire truck pulls up in front of our house.  I look at Boy 2 and he says quickly, "That wasn't me this time - I don't even know their number!"  It turned out they were testing the hydrant across the street; we had nothing to do with it.  See - good parents probably never suspect that their child had something to do with the fire truck or cop car out front.  I get flinchy.

I could keep going but I think you get the idea.  I should stop playing on the computer and go read a parenting book, or something...