Catching Bullfrogs

January 2011

Toussaint, 8

Tia, 5-1/2 years old

Just when I thought I might not find funny, cute TLogs to write about Toussaint anymore because the baby fat is gone, he's turned into one of the little rascals. There was a period between baby fat and little rascal in which he just kept getting more independent, capable, and smart in a big person way. During that period, he became quite a helper and I was fooled into thinking my job with him was going to keep getting easier. Now he's becoming a little rascal. At first, it seemed like back-sliding. Last year, he proudly mastered getting himself ready for school completely on his own. This year, he seems less able. But I'm now realizing it's not backsliding -- it's a new phase.

I'm still getting used to this phase, but it's becoming very cute to me now that I've realized he CANNOT, no matter what I say or do or how many times I address it, CANNOT not throw his towel on the floor and leave it there. This is where the phrase "Hell will freeze over before...." comes from -- from a mother realizing that it is a physical impossibility for her 8 year old boy to be tidy, still, quiet, responsible, or pay attention to her without whistling, humming, and fidgeting through her words. For him, that IS rocket science and that's why he looks so frustrated when I make such unreasonable requests.

What he is doing these days when it takes him an hour and a half to get ready for school despite our prodding, reminding, and help, is catching bullfrogs -- metaphorically, of course. And when I hear Tia's screams from the other room and see Toussaint run out giggling, I know my 8 year old boy has -- metaphorically, of course -- snuck the bullfrog he caught into his little sister's dollhouse.

Saturday Morning

January 2011

Toussaint, 8

Tia, 5-1/2 years old

Last night, as I do every Friday and Saturday night, I reminded Toussaint not to explode out of bed at the crack of dawn. "There's nothing happening at 6am. So, roll over and go back to sleep." We've been through the Saturday morning rules so many times, he does know them. And he actually tries with everything in his power to follow them. He just CAN'T. The rules contain safeguards intended to keep him in bed. Because you know, the same kids who have to be dragged from bed at 7am on school days will fly from bed at 6am on Saturday.

So,

Rule #1 -- No TV. (If that were allowed, he'd get up at 4.)

Rule #2 -- Do not wake anyone else up except for something Mama would agree is a true emergency.

Rule #3 -- Try to go back to sleep. If you can't, read, play quietly in your room, and/or get a snack.

He really tried to follow those rules this morning. I know he thought he was following them perfectly and with precision. But, somehow, in the process of application by an 8 year old boy, rules have a way of breaking themselves despite his noblest efforts. First, everyone knows, Rule #3 doesn't count if you have a bad dream. So, sometime before 6, Toussaint wound up lying awake in my bed. While trying to go back to sleep, fidgeting, wiggling, and pressing his ear against the wall -- as people do -- he thought he heard a noise in the wall that could pose a significant threat to his family. In his mind, it was definitely an emergency, so like a good boy, he followed Rule #2 and woke me up. I whispered that I heard nothing and to go back to sleep.

Two Rules down; one to go. Here's how this one works. Trying to go back to sleep when you're 8 and it's Saturday morning means you have to fidget, wiggle, flop about, tug on covers, and accidentally push the bed away from the wall while investigating something in the crack with your developing scientific mind. It's best to have a nightmare first so you can do this in Mom's bed and inadvertently wake her up. If it doesn't seem to be working, put your ear on the wall and hear an "emergency," because once you've woken her up for that, there's no way she's falling back to sleep beside you and your energy. Chances are she'll tell you to go watch TV. If she doesn't, ask and she'll probably cave. This morning, I did not cave. Rar! Go me! So, he stayed his wiggly self in my bed. My sleep was over. But Tia was beside me and I didn't want to wake her by getting up.

Having failed to dismantle Rule #1, Toussaint redoubled his focus on Rule #2. He followed it precisely, watching closely for his chance. Several minutes later, it came. Tia rolled over in her sleep and, as she did, her head lifted slightly and her eyes opened for a second. As soon as her eyes opened, Toussaint popped up, "Hi Tia!"

Did I say "dismantle"? Actually, I realize that's not fair. Toussaint wasn't trying to "dismantle" the rules.  He was just trying to follow them - proactively.

If You're 8...

January 2011

If you're 8,
and you have a snow day,
and your mom says to let your sister sleep in because she was crabby yesterday,
and it's still dark out,
and you're sitting in the living room by the locked front door through which no one has passed,
and you come to the kitchen to ask your mom something,
and she's not there,
you must run screaming her name throughout the house,
rather than check the basement -- where she's done laundry every single day of your life --
because it's much more likely that she climbed out the window in her pajamas to go shopping.

Princess Schmincess

Spring 2011

Tia, 6 years old

This part of Tina Fey's "Prayer for a Daughter" reminds me of Tia:

"May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers."

Recently, she said (referring to that bleeping royal wedding), "Mama, a girl is marrying a prince. That means she'll be a princess and get to live in a castle."
I replied, trying in vain to mask my concern, "Oh, is that something you'd like to do?"
She sneered: "No! I'm going to be a rock star!"


You go, Girl!!! Make your own damn money!

Hands-On Learning - Such a Lovely Theory

June 2011

Toussaint, 8-1/2 
Tia, 6 years old

Apparently, the kids heard me tell mom about a really cool science project the 7th graders are doing -- basically, making cars from junk, with cd's for wheels, then racing them.

Next thing I knew, I was hearing the following from other rooms as I made dinner:

Crash. Bang. Plastic rummaging. Picking through recycling bin.....
"Give me the scissors."
"No, get your own."
"Mine aren't sharp enough."
"Well, here."
"Why'd you throw them?"
"You need to poke harder than that to make the holes."
"Watch out! You almost stabbed the dog!"
"Where do we get cd's from?"
"Next to the stereo."
"No, Mama listens to those."
"Next to the computer, then.  She never listens to those."
**
There are moments it's especially hard not to tell them to go turn on the tv and turn off the imagination!