Camping Birthday for boys and home alone for me

Our youngest son is turning seven years old. They grow-up so fast. His big brother went to Canada for a three week sleep-away camp. This weekend my husband and K are going on a weekend camping trip with three other friends, each kid is bringing one parent, while I will be staying behind for the weekend. Spa day is planned for Saturday with a hot stone massage, mani and pedi planned. That evening will be dinner out with six girlfriends, followed by wine and hot tub back at our hotel. As much as K is looking forward to this camping trip, I think I am looking forward to a weekend on my own (the first in years). Ahhh. . .

The five day weekend

The boys had Wed - Fri off for Shavuot, which is the holiday to honor the giving of the Torah at Mt. Sinai. Or, as the boys refer to it, the holiday we are supposed to eat blintzes. Or, as I refer to it, what the heck am I going to do with these boys for The NEXT FIVE DAYS holiday. Since we are moving to a hotel for a month at the end of June, going away just wasn't all that appealing.

So, we went to our favorite park and figured out how it connects to our favorite little outdoor shopping plaza that has a crepe food cart. Blintzes are very similar to crepes. It was about 1.5 miles each way. A lovely park, a lovely walk, with yummy crepes as our end result. Good start!

The next day we went to a children's museum with my youngest and a friend, while my oldest stayed with another friend. What I thought was allergies for him turned into a bad cold.

Friday we hung at home to rest for the day. Pretty much let all screen time rules drop to the wayside and wasted away our day. :( 

Saturday, the boys had piano lessons followed by a recital in the afternoon. We had a BBQ with family at our place that evening. Then my boys and their little cousin stayed with Aunt/Grandma, while my cousins took me to a dive bar to listen to their friend play country music. I am not typically into country, but it was fun. I came home feeling like I was having bad allergies though.

Turns out, it was my turn for the cold. Sunday, I was absolutely miserable, my youngest had a play date away in the morning and then my boys were absolutely bored for the afternoon; I was in no shape for anything. A friend called and asked the boys for a play date, but I couldn't drive all drugged up on cold meds, and I didn't want to expose anyone to our house full of germs, so said maybe next weekend. The friend's Dad sent me a text offering to come get and drop-off my boys. Wow, really, are you sure? He said that he was, so I am taking him at his word and hoping to G-d the boys behave and he doesn't regret it. Thirty minutes later, off they go and I get a quiet rest. Thank goodness for good friends!!!

And that is how we spent our five day weekend. Now, if I can just get over this fever and cold. Too miserable to sleep and too close to kid pick-up time to take any meds. Grrr!!!

But, they're tasty

My dearest K. He is so cute, filled with personality and resolve, except when it comes to hamburgers and hot dogs. We were driving home from school and K asked if we could have hot dogs for dinner. I told him, "but honey they are made from cow." He replied, "but they're tasty."

So, K has clearly decided that these things are just too tasty to give-up. Not that we eat them a lot, but clearly vegetarianism is not his forte in its full form. You can imagine the joy experienced by my husband at this realization. It's funny, making efforts to provide vegetarian meals for K, seemed to quicken his realization that it wasn't for him. So, I guess in the future, when he won't let something go, the best thing to do is to show him the reality of what he seeks and then just let nature take its course. How come I have feeling that might back-fire on me one day???

Oh no, but guess who came home from school talking about some awful video he saw on how animals are treated. T is such a sensitive soul, where is this going. Did we just trade one vegetarian for another. Yikes!

Meat to Eat or Not. . .

Our 4 year old is a very deep thinker. When he starts learning about something of interest to him, he really focuses in on it to a degree I just wouldn't expect from a 4 year old. From understanding death, to understanding the differences between boys and girls, to really understanding the internal workings of the body, to practicing his letter sounds (constantly quizzing himself and us on letter sounds), he will focus intensely on a topic for months. He even does this thing where he walks around our living room coffee table, around and around, for up to 10 minutes at a time. If you ask him why he does it, he simply replies, "I'm just thinking."

So, his latest focus is on meat, specifically where meat comes from. He now realizes that meat comes from animals. He is constantly asking about every animal he knows and what that animal eats. And, has recently declared that he WILL NOT eat any animals. "If it doesn't have meat, it's not a meal" is my husband's favorite saying. So, this is going to be interesting for the cook of the family. Knowing K, this is something that he will take seriously and completely for quite some time. . .

Screaming Momma

Yes, instead of screaming Meemies, we have Screaming Momma. We took the boys skiing on the weekend. They just love it and we love that it is now something we can all do together.

K is too much like me when I was young. I had a need for speed, a little dare devil/risk taker if you will. And, unfortunately for us, that is clearly the way K is rolling. Funny how having kids totally changes things. Well, that and having had a major ski accident when I was first learning that put me on crutches for 8 weeks. As you can imagine, when it comes to skiing I am very very cautious now!

So, I went with K and Dani (the instructor) as K wants Momma with him. Dani makes K ski from one side of the slope to the other, using snow plow and turns to keep speed under control. The problem comes in when K skis with his big brother. T is a great skiier, going down reds, having good control even at faster speeds than I would ever dare attempt. And, K, well he wants to keep up with his big brother. So, what does he do? He is snowplowing, but going STRAIGHT down the hill, bombing it if you will. Oh my goodness, I'm yelling, yelling, yelling, "turn, Turn, TURN!!!! Go from side-to-side like Dani showed you!!!!" I think the other people on the slopes probably thought I was nuts. Luckily, S is a great skier and was able to keep up with him and occasionally get him to turn. Of course, I was yelling at S to catch him and make K turn. Even more fodder for the locals, look at that crazy American Mom yelling on the slopes. I think I need to ski in front of K instead of behind him. Yikes! I suppose, failing that, a stop off for hot chocolate with a shot of Brandy will do the trick, at least it will give me the illusion of doing the trick.

Politics, China and Pachina

Our oldest son has been very interested in talking about politics lately. We started talking about the economy, why so many things are made in China, why American companies sometimes build factories in China to the detriment of America's economy, etc. . .Our little one pipes up, they build factories on a "pachina." OK, yes, this is what he calls a specific female body part. I guess time to teach him the proper pronunciation. Well, we all had a good laugh anyway!

Helmet Boy

Another post that is rather K-centric here. When K was young he went everywhere wearing a bike helmet. We got to the point where he understood he could not wear it in the water or for bed, but there were nights where I would have to let him fall asleep with it on, then take it off as he slept. He just loved his helmet. I'll never forget the first time he went to synagogue without his helmet on; people were coming up to us left and right asking if everything was good now. "Good now, huh?" Apparently, they all assumed he needed it for some reason. Nope, he didn't, he just liked to wear it EVERYWHERE. He doesn't do that anymore, but the boy still loves his helmets.

He and his brother have bike helmets, a baseball helmet, hockey helmets and ski helmets. When I went to get some ski equipment, he made a b-line for (you guessed it) the helmets; not only to the helmets, but the girls' helmets. You see at preschool (at least I think that's where he is getting it, as I have no idea where he could be getting it from otherwise) he has picked-up some very definite ideas about what girls can like and what boys can like. So, he picked out a pink helmet for Mom. It's actually kind of cool and has some teal swirls on it too. I have not yet bought it, but he is adamant that Mom and Dad must have ski helmets. He will always be the helmet boy at heart.

You're Not My Mom

We made it back from London. The doctors helped us to figure out what was going on, why it was happening, how long it would take to get better and what we should do to help that process. And, we ruled out various nefarious causes, much to my relief.

While in London, K caught a stomach virus (probably at one of our doctor visits). He was vomiting for 3 days and nights. So, we spent the majority of our London visit with his medical appointments and then the rest in the apartment. After running out of plastic bags, we decided to use one of the apartment's mixing bowls as a vomit bowl. We did put in the dishwasher when we left, but it makes you think twice about using apartment provided dishes, doesn't it.

All week, K had been saying how much he missed his brother and wanted to go home. And, we were almost not allowed to come home because of K's illness. Luckily, he was physically symptom free for 20 hours, so they let us go. Woohoo.  

Still feeling a bit on the cranky side (K, well me too I must admit), we made our way to the airport. While having a very light breakfast, K started saying he didn't want to get on the plane because it would take us to London. He insisted the only way to get home was to drive. Since driving to Bulgaria was not a realistic option for us, I tried explaining to him that we are currently in London, so why would the plane take us there. Reasoning with a cranky 4-year-old doesn't really work. So, I proceed to tell him, if he wants to go home, we will get on the plane. He wouldn't have it and let me tell you it was not a pretty sight.  

As we made our way out of the restaurant, much to the happiness of the other patrons, K continued his fit. Again, I told him the plane would take us home, not to London. Now, there is something you have to understand about K. . .if he doesn't like what you are saying to him, he will start in with, "you're not my friend" or "you're not my brother" or "you're not my dad" or "you're not my mom." Well, I guess he didn't like that I was insisting we were going to get on that plane. So, in the middle of the airport, he's crying and yelling "you're not my mom, you're not my mom." I'm just glad we didn't get pulled aside by security asking us what the heck was going on. Then again, maybe I should be a little worried that nobody intervened. Hmmm???? After his latest "you're not my mom," he threw off his favorite Thomas the Tank Engine boots. I took them away from him and told him he could only have them back if he behaved. He sat in his stroller, put his boots back on, and was quiet as we made our way to the plane. When we get to the plane, he said, "oh, this is the plane to Sofia, but none of the other planes here go home." Yes, he gets it. Phew, crisis averted. I'm just so glad I didn't have to find out how him yelling "you're not my mom" as we boarded the plane would have gone over.

I can only imagine the huge laugh my parents are having up in heaven over this one. Yes, ok, my kids are just like me, happy now. ;)

K and his questions. . . .

Ok, nothing like a three year old child to hit you with reality so often that it finally becomes common place and almost comical. You see, awhile ago K was learning about his grandparents, and when asking where my Dad was, we honestly told him "Mommy's daddy is dead." Oh my goodness, what a huge mistake that was. He is so trying to grasp the concept that the questions keep coming. Every day, several times a day, these (or some variation of these) are the questions. . .

K: Is your Daddy dead?
Me: Yes, honey, he is?
K: Did heaven make him dead?
Me: Heaven is a place, not a person, and heaven did not make him dead.
K: Why is he dead?
Me: He was very sick and died?
K: Did he have a coat?
Me: What?
K: Was he cold, did he have a coat?
Me: No, he didn't die because he needed a coat.
K: Mommy, I'll be an astronaut and bring him a coat and rescue him from Heaven.
Me: Honey, that is very sweet, but really he didn't die because he needed a coat (grasping for straws to explain he didn't get sick because he was cold and needed a coat. . .) he died because he made some bad choices and smoked cigarettes.
K: Is Akachan dead (our cat).
Me: Yes, she is.
K: Did she smoke cigarettes?

It would seem there is no end in sight for this conversation. At least it has replaced in frequency the questions from K about who does and doesn't have a penis. Phew!!! And, after more than 20 years, I can finally talk about my Dad in way that doesn't bring a tear to my eye with the question "is your Daddy dead?" being a matter-of-fact part of each and every day, several times a day. What will be next, I'm almost afraid to find out.

Moro and the Dead Guy

Ok, so one more post about our trip.

We stayed at the same hotel in Borovets where the kids from school met-up with their ski instructors each morning. It was the most convenient place to stay, and I'm all for convenience.

Our room had a double bed for me and bunk beds for the boys. The lobby was nice enough, but the rooms were in need of some work. Still, we were there to ski not stay all day in our hotel room. The first night, K climbed into the bottom bunk and said to me, "Mommy, get all the people off my bed." I asked, "What people?" He replied, "All the people and Moro." Who the hell is Moro??? Now, I'm not sure if he even knows what the word "people" exactly means, but he ran over to my bed scared and refused to go back to his bed. Then he looks over in the corner of the room, where there is nothing but my nightstand and asks, "Is that guy dead?" I asked him, "what guy" and he just points to that corner where I see nothing and says "that guy." Does he know what "guy" means, does he have any concept of what "dead" means. I keep telling myself these things as I get spooked out way too easily. We all went to bed for the night and I was so tired that I fell asleep. Then, in the middle of the night all the partiers started hanging out loudly outside the hotel and we could hear everything. T woke-up and I woke-up, luckily K didn't. T was able to fall back asleep; I fell asleep only to be woken up several times throughout the night, but never by the "dead guy" or "Moro" at least.

The next day we moved rooms, not because of the "dead guy" or "Moro," really! But, we wanted to move to the other side of the hotel to not be right above the square with all the bars. It was much quieter until about 1 AM, when some loud guys above our room came home from the bars and stayed up talking (not yelling, but almost as loud) until like 5 AM. The boys slept through it, I did not. Usually, in the morning I take great efforts to keep the boys from making too much noise as to not wake guests in other rooms. Well, you better damn well believe I didn't worry about it that morning! Of course, in the morning they didn't fight once, unbelievably, so we didn't really have any loud noises on our part to keep down for once. Oh well.

Skate The Snake

This is a story about our T and his friend Skate the Snake. Skate was the imaginary friend created by T when we lived in East Timor. T was 2 ½ years old when Skate first appeared in our lives. It’s kind of a funny story how T met Skate. You see, in Dili (just like in Rio) there is a huge statue of Jesus atop a hill (called Cristo Rei). So, on nice days, we liked to walk to the top of the Cristo Rei hill. According to T, he met Skate on one of those walks. Why I found this so funny is that my little Jewish son met a serpent on his way walking up to Jesus. The imagery of it all is too much, anyway. . .

The thing with Skate is that I do believe he was really needed by T at the time. At first Skate was just a friend who would play with him and help him “fix.” T loved to fix things, especially pretend AC units. Then the evacuation occurred when T was almost 3 years old. T and I stayed back home in the US for 3 months, while his Dad had to be in Timor. I started hearing more and more about Skate during this time. But, it was when we returned from evacuation that Skate really came into his own.

We were allowed to return to Timor after 3 months apart from S, however events in Timor were not always calm. We always received texts to stay home when chaos started. But, there were rock fights, rocks and poison darts being thrown at people and their cars, and most terribly, Timorese “houses” being burnt to the ground by rival gangs. Seriously, Timor was the only time in this career that we actually put an American Flag on our car so as to not be targeted.

There was a lot of discussion about events by everyone and, unfortunately, sometimes kids heard things parents did not want them to hear. One day, T heard a teacher’s assistant talk about her house being burnt down. Suddenly, Skate had to move into a secret house, under our house. Apparently, Skate's house had been burnt down by bad guys and T wanted our guards to keep Skate and his family safe. It was a rough time. We loved Timor for its beauty, the WONDERFUL friends we made, the awesome SCUBA diving and we still miss so much about it. But, definitely, for a short time, there were some real negatives and T picked-up on them. Things did calm down, I became pregnant with K and then suddenly Skate’s Mom was pregnant too. Clearly, Skate was something positive for T. When we moved to America, after Timor, Skate became less and less mentioned. I don’t hear about him anymore. But, if I ask T about him, he does remember him fondly.

Chicken Butts

On Sunday afternoon, we skipped hockey and went to our local library because my 1st grader was a semi-finalist for the library's "Create-a-Bookmark" contest. The theme of the contest was "No Butts About Reading." In addition to handing out awards to winners, the author of the children's classic, "Chicken Butt" read the book to the whole group. Of course, now my two year old is going around saying, "chicken butt, chicken butt. . ."

I find this extra funny because in college my RA used to go around saying, "what's up chicken butt?" and reply, "not a thing chicken wing." Really, this whole book is not more complicated than her "chicken butt, chicken wing" routine.

You can see a photo of the bookmark on our facebook page. Instead of drawing a chicken butt or the butt of some other animal, he drew a leprechaun and a pot of gold. Not sure how it's related, but hey he did include the phrase "no butts about reading" on it.

"Who Knew?" and other inane observations

At the mall the other day with T, we noticed the Easter Bunny waving to us as s/he walked along. T was so excited to see her/him. And then, aforementioned Easter Bunny heads right to the bathrooms. Of course, Easter Bunnies need to use the bathroom too, but we've just never been confronted with the reality of it. Must've been some mighty big pellets. ;)

Reading an article today, I found that "snafu" is actually an acronymn for "Situation Normal: All F'ed Up." Who knew? Probably everyone out there but me.

K is transitioning from bike helmets to hats. Now, he still likes the helmet from time-to-time, but has decided that hats are the best thing since sliced bread. Please, however, if you see him out-and-about without his helmet, do not ask "where's your helmet?" ;)

Where's my six year old?

T is a classical music fan. It started in Kindergarten when his teacher would put on classical music during rest time and he just LOVED it! Then we shared the John Williams Star Wars CD with him. He even asked us to put that CD and the Henry Mancini Pink Panther CD on his MP3. Now, everytime we get in the car, he asks me to tune it to Classical WETA. Of course, how could you ever turn down that request? He will then tell me the story of the music we are hearing, from horses galloping, to ships sailing, to a sword fight. He imagines a story for each song.

The only problem with WETA is that sometimes some rather grim news stories come across the airwaves in between classical pieces. Last night, as we were driving home from piano lessons, I turned off the station as they started discussing death tolls in Chile. Of course, he's heard much about the earthquake in Haiti and we've discussed what we've done as a family and what his school is doing to help. So, he said, "mom, please don't turn that off, I want to listen." Is he really only six? I let him listen.

The radio discussed how Haiti had a more devastating experience than Chile even though the earthquake in Chile was much stronger. And, we talked about it for awhile as he didn't understand why that would be. How much to explain???? I tried to say that the people in Haiti are very poor (like in Timor), their buildings were built as cheaply as possible, that their government just doesn't work for the people very well, and that we need to do more than just send money, we need to help them build a functioning government and help make sure the money to properly rebuild their buildings and schools goes where it needs to go. I went on to say how difficult this is to do without them feeling like we are treating them like babies (trying to figure out the best way to put it) as nobody likes to be treated like a baby. He then proceeds to tell me all about the "Slave One" ship he is building with Legos and how he wants to find the Lego mini-figures that go with the ship. Ah, the world of Star Wars Legos. There's my six year old.

Gremlin or Cherub

My little cherub, sitting here quietly, peacefully, watching his Wiggles before we head off to take brother to school. And, yet, lurking behind that peaceful, loving, oh so cute baby face is a GREMLIN! Yes, I admit I have a gremlin. We like to call him baby, but he prefers going by the names of either Star Wars, Luke, or Darth Vader. He must have been in his Darth Vader mode yesterday when he stuffed some unknown object into the Wii, which now no longer works. Ah, yes, me and the Nintendo lady had a good laugh together when I called up telling her that her phone menu doesn't have an option for "two-year old gremlin destroys the Wii." I was happily surprised to hear that they think they can fix it and it will only cost me $50. Now, just wondering what the heck he stuffed in there!!!! Perhaps a lego. We will find out soon enough!

Why not a kitchen for a boy

So, for Hanukkah, I decided the baby needed a toy kitchen in which to play. So he could cook for me, while I cook for him (instead of him holding on to my leg while I try to cook).

I looked around all the store ads and on-line to find the kitchen with the best reviews for the best price. This time, unfortunately for me, it was at Wal-Mart. At first, it appeared they were all gone as there were none in the toy section and the guy working there said they sold the last one in the morning. Oh well. While I was there, I went to their outdoor section as we needed some hardscape yard supplies--trying to dog proof the digging spot and figured it cannot hurt to see what Walmart has available--not much. Wouldn't you know, in the outdoor area, I saw high-up on a (yes I know that is relative) more toy kitchens!!!! I went to ask for help, as obviously there was no way I was reaching that by myself. The baby was with me during this adventure. The woman, climbed a ladder to get it down and as we were loading it into my cart, she says, "oh, do you have a daughter at home." I said, "no, this is for him." She was astonished and made no bones in telling me that it was "a toy for a little girl." This is a Step 2 kitchen, with neutral colors! Hmmm, I knew there was a reason I prefered Target.