There goes my mother of the year award: Example 352

Marco walks Annabella to school on Wednesdays, so as they were getting ready to go today I reminded him that Annabella's friend Chloe would be coming home with her from school for a playdate and if Chloe's mom said something about it then he should act like he knew what she was talking about so she wouldn't be worried.

For some reason I felt I needed to elaborate on this and give examples of what not to say. I can't think I'm the only wife who feels she needs to micromanage her husband's behavior in public.

"So," I added, "When she says 'Chloe's going to your house after school today,' don't say 'What, you mean our crack den?'"

And for some reason the phrase "crack den" seemed especially funny to all three of our children and then they began repeating and then singing it over and over again for nearly five minutes. Thankfully, after a few rounds it somehow morphed into "kitty cat den." 

What we talk about when we talk about death

Tonight at bedtime Annabella and I were discussing our friends who are about to have a baby.

Me: Isn't it amazing that the baby is in Kerry's belly and then in a few weeks the baby will be out in the world and then she's going to live in the world her whole life?

Annabella: Yes, wouldn't it be funny if she grew up and she was still a baby?

Me: Yes, that would be funny, but how could that happen?

Annabella: Well, she could grow up and then be a baby again and grow up and then be a baby again.

At this point I'm beginning to wonder what they're teaching her at this Montessori preschool of hers. Is reincarnation on the schedule somewhere between learning to trace her name and learning how to sweep the floor?

Annabella: You know, like Great Grandpa who is 1, 2, 3...(she counts to 18.) Is Great Grandpa 18?

Me: No, Great Grandpa is 86.

Annabella: Things get very old and then they die.

Me: Yes, who told you that?

Annabella: You did.

Me: Really?

Annabella: Yes, when Paul's dog died you said it was because he was very old.

This is true. Paul is our neighbor and he is that kind of old person who you forgive for saying pretty much anything that comes into his head. He is also one of the few people I know who still tells Monica Lewinsky jokes. He used to have a dog was an incredibly loud howler. Last month as I was walking by his house with the boys in the stroller and Annabella on her bike, Paul announced, "You won't hear my dog howling anymore because he's dead." This set off a series of death questions that must have resulted in my telling Annabella that Paul's dog died because he was very, very old.

Me: Yes, he was very very old.

Annabella: Much older than daddy.

Me: Yes, much older than daddy.

Annabella: And much older than Milo and Huck.

Me: Yes, much older than Milo and Huck.

Annabella: And much, much older than great grandpa.

Me: Yes, much, much, much older than great grandpa.

Annabella: Did you know that monsters are older than ghosts?

They really bite

On Saturday Milo bites Huck on the face.

This is not the first face bite, but it is the worst. I run when I hear the screaming, but I don't get there fast enough. They are squeezed in the toy closet fighting over something (that we probably have two of) and I can't reach Milo's jaws at the right angle to jimmy them open. Huck is crying so hard that I decide to pull Milo off him.

If I hadn't done that, the bite probably wouldn't have broken skin.

I hold Huck to my chest. He is still screaming and I can feel wetness on my shirt where his face is. For a few minutes I don't look at the bite. I don't want to. I turn to Milo and say the thing I still say several times every day--"No biting." Then I give him a look that I hope conveys how disappointed in him I am, but instead probably conveys my still utter confusion as to how my sweet, sensitive boys can cause so much pain to each other.

When I finally summon the nerve to look at Huck's face, I am releived to see that it is his tears I feel and not his blood. It shouldn't suprise me. Their bites to each other rarely bleed. Sometimes there are white flecks of skin, like eraser shavings. The skin turns red and then a bruise forms.

How did I become a person who knew so much about the anatomy of a human bite?

When Huck slows down his crying I wash the bite and put him back down on the floor. Then the two boys continue to play with each other like nothing has happened at all.

It should be noted that Milo is not the evil twin. Huck is just as likely to bite Milo and in fact does bite him pretty hard on the forehead a few hours later. Milo is also more likely to climb on things and give Huck the idea to climb on things, like my dresser which toppled over on them last week as I walked into my bedroom just in time to catch it.

Are you starting to get an idea about why I don't get to write as much here as I'd like?

Watch this, Mommy

I knew I was in serious trouble last week at the playground when Huck, perched atop the slide, looked at me and said, "Watch this, Mommy."

That's a lot of words to string together for a little boy who won't even be two until April. In fact, I'm not even sure he fully understood the concept since he didn't do anything but appear ecstatic that he had managed to wrest my attention away from his brother and sister. He didn't exactly know what the words meant, but he'd absorbed the fact that when his sister says this 376 times a day, I usually look. Or at least I look 375 times.