Iron Man

{I just found this post in my drafts folder. I guess I wanted to add more to it or add some commentary or something. But I think I’m going to let it go as is. Because sometimes kids just don’t make sense and there’s no point in doing more than just putting it out there and letting people scratch their heads. Or laugh. Or both.}

Sitting at a traffic light in front of a thrift store, Hal gazed out our window into the store’s window and announced, “Hey, mom! They have an Iron Man costume in there. We should get that for me to wear for Halloween.”

“Nope,” I said. “Not gonna happen. Your daddy hates Iron Man.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I do too. But it’d still be cool to dress up like him.”

 

Magical Basketball

There’s an elf on Hal’s basketball team.

I’m serious.

There are 5 normal, uncoordinated, barely-understand-the-rules, clueless little boys, 1 phenom that scores all the points and wins the games, and an elf (who also happens to be uncoordinated and clueless and barely understands the rules, but he’ll grow to have magical powers so it’s all cool).

As we sat at one of the recent games, I argued my case to my husband.

“Just look! I tell you he’s an elf.”

He just smiled at me.

“See his hair? It hangs down almost to his eyes and down in front of his ears in sharp points, which emphasizes his ears. Which aren’t pointy yet, but I think that’s just because he’s young. Give him some time.”

My husband laughed.

The elf boy is thin and fairly uncoordinated so at one point I said, “He doesn’t have the graceful movement yet but that comes with age too.”

“Oh, it does?”

“Of course it does. You read The Last Dragon! That poor helpless child elf was clueless and clumsy. He didn’t know how to do any magic but it came with time. Give this one some time. Eventually, he’ll be the most beautiful person on the court. Trust me.”

“So are you saying he can shoot arrows through brass rings at a hundred yards?”

“Not yet. Too young. He’ll get there though.”

“Mhhm-hmm.”

At one point, the magical creature walked close to us and I saw why his eyes had looked so big and dark at a distance.

“Look!” I said to my amused husband. “Just look at his eyelashes! No one has eyelashes that long except elves. I’m telling you, it’s true. I’m surprised no one else has noticed.”

“I’m glad you are so entertained by River,” my husband said.

“River? His name is River? Really?” I asked.

“You haven’t stayed for any basketball practices, have you?”

“No. But come on! The name bolsters my argument. That’s a nature name – elves are one with nature. It’s an elf name!”

I saw an adult man talking with River in a fatherly fashion near the end of the game. The man certainly did not look like an elf. Not at all. So I can only assume that since elves do not walk openly among us, this man had been hired to act in this care-taking role while in public spaces. The elves obviously wanted to give their boy the best opportunity to interact with other children. Because anyone who knows anything about elves knows that they don’t have children very often. There’s probably no one in his extended family close to his age.

So here he is, playing basketball with my son. Who, just like everyone else in the gym except me, is clueless he’s playing with magical greatness in the making.

What Makes Me Happy

You know what makes me happy?

That there is candle wax on pages 59 and 60 of the hymnal.

That my ill son insisted on attending church on Christmas Eve because he wanted to hold a candle and sing Silent Night.

That, even though he slept through the entire service and had to be woken to hold his candle, and even though he never sings with us on Sunday mornings, I nevertheless heard his voice carrying loud and strong as we sang tonight.

That the women in the choir sang a beautiful descant as we held our candles in the air.

That a congregation not entirely comfortable with singing nevertheless filled the sanctuary with their voices on Christmas Eve.

That my husband was able to be with us almost as if our circumstances were not what they are.

That I never tire of the beauty of the moment.

Merry Christmas everyone.

Did You Brush Your Teeth?

Yesterday, I was responsible for opening the church so after my run and a quick shower, I left my family to their morning routine and headed to the church. When I returned, I found my boys lounging in the living room.

“Are you guys ready to go?”

“Yes.”

“Hal, did you brush your teeth?”

“Yes.”

This is a dubious claim when coming from him, one that always requires verification.

“Let me smell your breath.”

He let out an audible indicator of frustration as he hopped up, slammed down what he was holding, and began stomping right past me toward the bathroom.

He grumbled as he went, “No one ever believes me!!!”

“So did you brush your teeth?”

“NOOOOO!”

“You think that might be why we don’t believe you?”

“Ugggggghhhhh!”

This routine is a twice daily occurrence in one form or another. And he wonders why we don’t believe him.

Whose Fault Is It?

A certain seven year old someone was slow to get up on this, his fifth day of second grade. When he finally managed to climb down from his bunk, he entered my room in just his underwear, whiny.

“Mommy… I want to wear my pants today but nobody did laundry.”

“That’s because we normally do laundry on the weekend. If you needed pants, you should have said something. You know that,” I said as I followed him to his closet.

“I don’t need laundry. I just wanted to wear pants but since I only have one pair…” He reluctantly reached for a pair of shorts.

“You only have one pair because you are growing so fast that Daddy didn’t want to buy you a bunch of pants that you’d grow out of before winter.”

“Well! You never told me that you only do laundry on the weekends.”

“There are lots of things that are true that I don’t specifically say to you. The fact is, if you wanted some laundry that wasn’t available you should have said something. We could have done something about it last night.”

You didn’t do laundry, you didn’t buy me enough pants, you never told me.

I (essentially) have two teenagers and a baby-of-the-family. The entire parental side of my being revolves around something not being right in one of my progeny’s life and it being someone else’s fault, no matter how convoluted the logic gets.

Goodbye Mommy. I love you…

Summer is over and school has begun. Everyone in the house is now up early each morning instead of just me*. So our patterns will change again and I’ll lose one small endearing moment.

When I am leaving the house before my children, which really only happens when they aren’t in school, Hal has a very sweet ritual.

“Goodbye Mommy. I love you. Have a good day at work.”

I get this every morning, often multiple times. Always the same.

You might claim this is just perfunctory and he’s not even thinking about it, but you’d be wrong.

You see, every morning of the summer when I would leave for work while the children were still in bed, I’d walk in and say goodbye to each of them. Jane would typically not respond much and if she did, she was usually irritated that I was waking her up. Daryl, now entering the teenage stage of life himself, never stirred. He never acknowledged my presence, never said goodbye, never even woke up as far as I know. So much for the mamma’s boy.

But Hal? No matter how deep asleep my youngest child was, no matter whether I spoke or just delivered a soft kiss to the cheek, Hal always stirred and said his goodbye phrase and hugged me tightly. Even if he wasn’t ready to open his eyes.

One time, he got his phrase swapped with his bedtime phrase and said, “Goodnight Mommy. I love you. Have a good day at…{pause}… Goodbye Mommy. I love you. Have a good day at work.” We both smiled and hugged. It was sweet.

Ok, so you might look at that and say, “See? It’s perfunctory. He’s not even thinking as he says it.”

But remember when I said “often multiple times”? Yeah, it wasn’t multiple times while he lay in bed. The other times came as I opened the door to leave, as I got to the car, or if I walked back into the house.

That little boy, with no personal need to rise from bed, would climb out of his top bunk and run (run!) down the hall calling out, “WAIT MOMMY! I need another hug!” He’d embrace me by the door and then say, “Goodbye Mommy. I love you. Have a good day at work.” Sometimes he’d even get out of bed and lay on the couch waiting for that opportunity to get another hug and send me off properly. And I’d say I had a 50/50 shot at him opening the door and running down the sidewalk barefoot to do it all yet again.

No, he’s not robotic. It’s just very important to him that I get sent off properly every single day. Of course, now school is back in session. Everyone rises early and struggles to get ready to leave the house. People get crosswise with each other. Hal gets frustrated and whiny and yells at everyone. And I try to calm him down and tell him to have a good day at school. I don’t get my sending off. I don’t get my “Goodbye Mommy. I love you. Have a good day at work.” I wonder if he’s even aware I’m going to work.

I’ll still get my “Goodnight Mommy. I love you.” every night. But all those “Goodbye Mommy”‘s from the summer will have to hold me over until the next summer. Maybe I’ll get a little recharge over Christmas break. We shall see.

Goodbye little buddy. I love you. Have a good day at school.

 

*Jane will point out that with band camp every day of August, I wasn’t the only one up early. I find that a superfluous detail to this tale. That’s just August and it still wasn’t the entire family, but she would be right. Her school year, in a way, started August 1st.

Battle of the Bands: Little Brother vs. One Direction

This morning was a good morning. Hal returned to the land of the living – he had been ill and was asleep when I got home last night and never stirred from the couch all evening – despite all the bustle of activity around him. At one point, he heard my voice and reached for a hug but was back asleep in no time. He slept all night too. But this morning, he bounded in, full of energy. We told him to take a shower and eat some breakfast.

It was a good morning for Jane too. Today was the release day for the new One Direction album that she had pre-ordered months ago. She had the music on her iPhone and was trying to devour all the songs as she prepared for school.

And that’s where the collision occurred.

The happy, energetic, feeling-better seven-year-old was singing heartily in the shower. The happy, excited teenager was trying to listen to her new music while applying make-up and fixing her hair in the same bathroom.

“Hal! Can you please stop singing?”

{More singing of nonsense words.}

“Hal! Please! I’m trying to listen to my new music!”

{Singing continues.}

“HAL! I asked nicely!”

I called to Jane. She called back in an irritated voice.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I’m trying to listen to my new music but Hal keeps singing.”

“Singing in the shower,” I said, “is an intrinsic right. You can’t deny someone their right to sing in the shower.”

“Well! I didn’t want to turn the music up loud and bother people!”

“But you can’t tell him not to sing in the shower. It’s a primal need. You’ll have to go get ready in your room or wait to listen to your music or just put up with him.”

She groaned.

“Jane?” I called out.

She’d had enough. In her most tortured, irritated teenagery voice, she yelled back, “ARE YOU STILL TALKING TO ME?!”

“Yes. I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad the One Direction album came in. I’m glad you are getting to enjoy it. I’m happy for you.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“You handled that well,” my husband whispered.

“It’s what I really planned to say all along. Really.”

But I will hold the “ARE YOU STILL TALKING TO ME?!” line in my head all day. As my mother-in-law loves to say on Facebook, it was my first laugh of the day.