Square Peg, Round Hole

I got to attend my first parent-teacher conference today. It was fun. They informed me that Luke could to all the things on their evaluation and was doing very well. On the walk back to the car, I took a quick glance at the evaluation and it made me smile. There were some sections about social and group behaviour (which I did find interesting because I don't generally get to see that side of him) and some things about cognitive and verbal abilities (which are the ones that made me smile.) Here are some of the things in those sections that I found particularly amusing--my thoughts are in parenthesis:

-May name 18-20 uppercase letters. (Yes, he can. And lowercase. And cursive. And probably calligraphy, though I haven't tried that yet.)
-Recognizes some printed words. (Such as Australopithecus.)
-Able to count to 30. (Also informed me yesterday that 1000x1000=1000000.)
-Can state first and last name. (When I ask him to do this, it leads to him stating the first and last names of everyone else in our family, as well as everyone in his best friend's family. And then, he tells me everyone's birthday, as well as our address, which he recites as "house number, street name, city, state, country, continent, planet." Inevitably, this leads to a recitation of the other continents and planets. I try not to ask the question unless we have 20 minutes to spare.)
-Prints own name. (Last weekend, he wrote, "I put down my cat and I picked up my other cat. I went out the door. I said Boo! I saw a ssssnake. It hissed at me. I marched." A few months ago, he started writing his name in cursive, but when preschool started back up, he stopped doing that, presumably because they're focusing on printing.)

After the conference, I asked him how he was enjoying school. He said he loves it. Then, I asked him what he learned there. His reply: "I don't learn things at school. My teacher can never trick me. I already know all the school things. I can only learn things at home and from my books." Oh, dear. This is going to be a crazy ride.

Pumpkin Patch

Last weekend, we went to a pumpkin patch. Or at least, I expected a pumpkin patch. Instead, we found some magical land of amazement. There was so much to do that the two hours that we had allotted were not nearly enough. I think we could easily have spent all day here and not run out of things to do.

He said he needed a picture with the cow. (That sweater? I made it with the intention of having it fit Luke last winter. Clearly, that was a big fail. I guess this is one of the benefits of having two kids who are fairly close in age...you can make stuff for the older one and if it's too small, it'll still fit the younger one.)

There was a giant field with little pumpkins scattered all over it, presumably so the kids could run among them and do with them as they would. So of course, pumpkins had to be picked up...

...and pumpkins HAD to be flung around.

This was the corn crib. Like a sand box, but with corn. By far, their favorite thing. We were still finding corn kernels in their clothes and shoes the next morning.

"It's sand! It's corn-sand!!"

Fall Festivities

Last week, Luke's preschool held their annual fall get-together and it was quite the event. Other Boy came with us and McMoose took the day off so he could join us as well--and thank goodness he did because even with two adults, we had our hands full with three little guys!

Every time I get the camera out, he makes me take a picture of him first.

As usual, Luke wanted his face painted like a superhero. His current favorite is Batman and this is what the face painter came up with. He kept his "mask" on all day.

I asked them to make their best superhero faces. This is what happened next.

All fall picnics should involve pumpkin decorating, right?

In addition to the pumpkin decorating, there was shirt making, spooky hand creating, bobbing for eyeballs, and a nature walk...but at some point, I put the camera back in the bag and forgot all about it. Oops.

Cosmic Balance

Tuesdays are usually our stay at home days, but today, we made plans with friends, so we had to get up and get moving.

The first time I went into Luke's room, he was awake and reading, so I told him to please get dressed. I took a shower. I got dressed. McMoose got Weston dressed. I went back into Luke's room and found him...naked and reading. Get. Dressed. Now. We need to leave soon, I told him.

Came downstairs and made breakfast and five minutes later, I was happily surprised to see two fully dressed children coming down the stairs. Two fully dressed children sat down to eat yogurt and a banana, which resulted in one fully dressed child needing to be re-dressed because yogurt. And a banana. What was I even thinking?!

They yelled and fussed and fought while I was making last minute preparations. (Water bottle? Check. Extra clothes for kids? Check. Jackets? Check. Car potty clean and ready to go? Check.) Told Luke to put on his shoes and he moaned about having to tie them. Told Weston to come to me so I could put on his shoes and he took his socks off and threw them at my head and then threw himself on the floor and had a massive meltdown (for which I still do not understand the reason.) Wrangled everyone and everything into the car and breathed a sigh of relief--we'd only be 10 minutes late, which is pretty miraculous.

We enjoyed the park. Listened to a lady talk about hawks. Sat down to have a snack. Weston sat on my lap. Soon, my lap felt strangely warm. Did you pee on me, I asked? Told him to stand up, but there's no wet spot. Ok, you can sit back down. Sorry for the false accusation.

7 seconds later, I feel the wetness. Sigh. I brought extra clothes for the kids, but never before have I needed extra clothes for myself. Next time, I'll know better. Off we go to the car, waving good-bye to the train (that we hadn't gotten to ride) and the cafe (where we hadn't gotten to eat.) I open the trunk, which is full of extra clothes and jackets and hats, have Weston stand in it, and pull down his underwear, fully expecting pee. Of course, it was poop. Which flung itself all over the trunk. All over the clean clothes. The jackets. The umbrella. My hands. And as I dug frantically through the backpack with my clean hand, I came to the horrifying realization that we were out of baby wipes.

We have many calm, peaceful, joy-filled days. And then, we have days like today to maintain the balance.

Numbers

3: The number of children currently in my home.
2: The number of children who are happily and cooperatively playing upstairs, away from me, without any of the issues that would have cropped up and required my intervention just a couple of months ago.
1: The number of children who are being kept downstairs and grumbling periodically about that fact.
14: The number of times I've repeated some variation of the phrase, "You are so disappointed about having to stay downstairs while the big boys are upstairs. You really wish you could be up there with them. We're staying down here anyway."
17: The number of odd chores I've sent him on to distract him. "Can you bring me the broom?" "Can you make me some pretend soup with mushrooms and carrots?" "Can you find a dress up hat to put on Yellow Cat?" etc.
3: The number of times Yellow Cat has grumbled at us for including him in such activities.
4: The number of times I've reminded someone about the potty.
6: The number of cups of almond milk I've refilled.
28: The number of pipe cleaners that are scattered across my living room.
100: The number of times I would like to relive today, just for the simple joy of hearing the big ones giggling upstairs and cuddling the little one on my lap.

All or Nothing

While driving home after picking Luke up from preschool:

Me: Wow, look at that bus--it has all kinds of colors on it.
Luke: Well, not really. It doesn't have any kind of brown...or gray...or blue.
Me: I didn't say it had every color on it, I said it had all kinds of colors on it.
Luke: Yes, but that's wrong. It doesn't have all the different kinds of colors on it.
Me: All kinds doesn't mean every kind. It just means...a lot of colors.
Luke: All doesn't mean lots. All means all.
Me: In this case, "all kinds" means "lots of kinds of colors."

Later, towards the end of lunch:


Me: Have you eaten all the cucumber slices yet?
Luke: Yes.
Me, walking over and noticing that there are still two cucumber slices on his plate: You have not. I see two of them sitting right there.
Luke: There were eight of them and I ate six already. Six is a lot.
Me: Well, that's true, but I didn't ask if you had eaten a lot. I asked if you had eaten them all.
Luke: I thought we decided that nowadays, "all" means "a lot."

Different Strokes

The conversation that just happened here went something like this:

Me: He has been quiet for a while now. Think he's asleep?
McMoose: Maybe.
Me: You should go check on him...um...
Mc: Quietly?
Me: Yes, quietly, but what I really want to say is, "in an espionag-y fashion."
Mc: *Looks at me like I've lost my mind*
Me: Sneakily!
Mc: Covertly?
Me: Furtively!!! Furtively is a great word.
Mc: Yes, but furtively...means...*checking on google* "with a hidden motive or purpose. You want me to have a hidden motive?
Me: Yes! So here's how I do it: I slooooowly turn the handle so it doesn't make a sound. I crack the door open two centimeters. No, maybe one-and-a-half centimeters. Then, I line up my line of vision so that I can see him through the crack. Then, I wait twenty seconds--no, really, you have to count to twenty...with Mississippis. And then, if he's not moving, I open the door a tiny bit more and look at his eyes. If his eyes aren't blinking, he's asleep.
Mc: Here's how I do it. I open the door. He's not moving. I go over to the bed. He's not moving. I look to see if he's breathing. I can't tell. I go closer to see if he's breathing. I still can't tell. I put my hand on his belly to see if he's breathing. I think he is but I still can't be sure.

It's conversations like this that convince me that we really are meant to be together.